


the cycling of fire

by eurydicees



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Aang & Zuko (Avatar) Friendship, Aang (Avatar) Needs a Hug, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Childhood Trauma, Gen, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Zuko's Scar (Avatar), just me bein emo about zuko & aang parallels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:48:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28061190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eurydicees/pseuds/eurydicees
Summary: Aang is twelve years old, and somehow the world doesn't care about that. Aang is a child, and somehow the world is not showing him mercy.Or, Zuko reflects on the fact that Aang is a child, and they have too many nightmares in common.
Relationships: Aang & Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 154





	the cycling of fire

**Author's Note:**

> i rly just wrote and edited this in an hour after seeing [this](https://lizard-business.tumblr.com/post/637242426112802816/yall-ever-think-about-how-zuko-was-so-intense) tumblr post and losing my mind.

Aang is twelve years old. He may have been born a century ago, but he is, in Zuko’s eyes, twelve years old. This doesn’t really hit him until they’re coming back from their first day of firebending lessons— he had known, earlier, that Aang was a child, but back then, it didn’t matter. Very few things mattered, back then, and Aang being twelve wasn’t one of them. All that Zuko cared about was that Aang was his only hope of getting home, and therefore Zuko had to capture him, twelve years old or not.

Now, though, Zuko is sitting at the edge of the campfire watching Aang, at the other end of the pavilion, holding a little fire in the dark and showing Katara the flames. His face glows in the light of the fire, flames twinkling in his eyes. Katara looks just as fascinated, even if scared, and then that hits too, because she’s not much older than Aang. They’re all _children._

But it doesn’t matter that they’re children because the world is ending and no one else is going to save it. No one but the Avatar can defeat the Fire Lord, and thus Aang has to be as strong as possible. He’s twelve years old and the world is a weight on his shoulders that Zuko can only shoulder a fourth of. All that Zuko can do is teach him every firebending move he knows and hope that Aang is strong enough. 

And that’s another question that Zuko doesn’t want to think about. Part of him— an ugly, angry, significant part of himself— doesn’t think that Aang can do it. Part of him thinks that Ozai is going to look at this twelve year old child and offer him no mercy. Part of him thinks that Ozai is going to look at this twelve year old child and spare him even less kindness than he had given his son, when Zuko fell to his knees and _begged._

It was cruel and it was wrong. 

And it’s cruel and wrong and hopeless that this twelve year old child has to go up against that abuser. Aang doesn’t understand what he’s going up against, doesn’t understand that there are some evils in the world that kindness cannot solve. He doesn’t understand that there are some people in this world that kindness cannot nurture. 

“Faster,” Zuko snaps, a few days later, and Aang sighs. He gets back into the starting position of the move Zuko had been showing him, and readies his stance. Zuko uses his foot to tap the back of Aang’s knee. “If I kicked here, you would collapse. You’re too tense.” 

“I’m exhausted,” Aang mutters, but he does what Zuko says anyway. He takes a deep breath and punches at the air again. 

He’s better than Zuko was at his age— which Zuko tries very hard, and fails, to not be bitter about— but he’s still not good enough. He’s not strong enough. Zuko knows firsthand what Ozai’s fire feels like, and he knows that a twelve year old cannot survive it. Zuko, at thirteen, hadn’t survived Ozai’s fire, not really. He had lost part of himself, a part that he had to build up again from brick and mortar and rage, and Aang has so much more to lose than Zuko did. 

Part of him— that same ugly part that doesn’t trust Aang to be strong enough— wants to be the one to kill Ozai. He knows that it’s not his destiny, he had his chance on the day of the eclipse and he made his choice, but sometimes he looks at Aang and thinks, no, this shouldn’t be his job. This shouldn’t weigh on Aang. 

Aang isn’t just a child, no, he’s a brave, genuine, kind child. That’s another thing that didn’t matter when Zuko was trying to capture him— he didn’t care if Aang was happy or not, he didn’t care if Aang was earnest, he didn’t care if Aang was willing to forgive him, back when Aang found out that Zuko was the Blue Spirit that rescued him way back when. He didn’t care that Aang was a genuinely good person. 

Now, though, it’s all he can think about. He’s sitting at the edge of the dying campfire again, watching the embers fall apart, unable to think about anything except for Aang, dying. Aang, fighting Ozai and losing. Aang, as burnt as Zuko is, or worse. 

It was cruel and it was wrong. 

“You okay?” 

Zuko looks up from the fire, blinking as his eyes adjust to the dark of the shadows behind him. It’s the middle of the night, and Zuko didn’t think that anyone else would be awake, but Aang steps away from the rest of the sleeping group, making his way towards the campfire with silent steps.

“Yeah,” Zuko tells him, voice low, trying not to wake anyone else up. “I’m sorry if I woke you.” 

Aang shook his head. “I couldn’t sleep anyways. Figured you could use some company.” 

Zuko shrugs, picking up a stick and poking at the embers of the fire. There’s a flare of hot flame, and then it calms again. Zuko steadies his breath, trying not to think about Aang sitting across from him. 

“Who taught you firebending?” Aang asks suddenly. Zuko looks up, frowning. “I mean, besides your uncle. He wasn’t always around, right? He was fighting in the war?” 

Slowly, Zuko nods. “Where are you going with this?” 

“I’m just curious,” Aang says, voice quiet, quiet enough that Zuko knows there’s more to it. “So, who was it? That taught you?” 

“There were other firebending masters that were employed to teach me and Azula.” Zuko licks his lips, feeling the places that he had bitten his anxiety into. “But after I… was banished, my uncle retaught me everything.” 

Aang nods thoughtfully, looking into the fire rather than at Zuko. He’s grateful for that much, Zuko doesn’t think he wants anything even resembling eye contact at that moment. 

“So Ozai never taught you?” Aang asks. He says it casually, as if it doesn’t send a shock down Zuko’s spine. 

“Not personally,” Zuko says, swallowing down any discomfort. “He oversaw our lessons sometimes, but he never taught us himself.” 

Aang nods again. He shifts, putting his hand out in front of him, resting his elbow on one knee. A small flame bursts into life in his palm, flickering and dancing in the dark. The shadows over his face are soft.

“So you never sparred? Or fought him?”

Zuko flinches, sitting straight up and looking at Aang. “What?” 

“I’m just curious,” Aang says. Then his voice turns quieter. “I’m going to have to fight him, Zuko, and I don’t— I don’t know how.” 

Zuko looks away from him and back to the fire. The embers are burning again, burning alongside Zuko’s rapid, unhinged heartbeat. “I don’t know how either.” 

“What do you mean?” 

It was cruel and it was wrong. Fuck. All of this, all of it, is cruel and wrong. Aang shouldn’t be asking him this, shouldn’t have to be asking him this, and Zuko shouldn’t have an answer. 

“I was thirteen,” Zuko whispers. His voice has gone hoarse, like he’s regressed back to being a child and on the warship with damaged vocal chords. “I didn’t fight him. I begged him for forgiveness. I told him I was loyal. He didn’t care.” 

Aang is staring at him, lips parted, words somewhere on his tongue, but not finding his breath.

“So no,” Zuko says, voice turning hard. “I never fought him.” 

“Oh,” Aang whispers in a small voice. 

Zuko shrugs, trying to be casual, to be strong. “He shot lightning at me once. I redirected it. I don’t think that’s fighting him, but I’ve— I’ve survived him.” 

“That’s important,” Aang tells him. He looks at Zuko, fixing him with an intense stare, as if he’s trying to use his Avatar powers to unlock everything that’s running through Zuko’s head at that moment. “It’s really important.” 

“I guess,” Zuko says, poking at the fire again, shifting the coals and making sparks shoot up. “I’ll show you, tomorrow. How to redirect lightning. It might help you.” 

Aang just nods, and there’s a moment of silence before Zuko swallows down all his thoughts and tells Aang he’s going to bed. The next day, he teaches Aang how to redirect lightning. Soon after that, the world ends. 

And then it begins again. 

Ozai is in a prison put together by Toph’s metalbending prowess, guarded in a rotation of only people that Zuko and Aang both trust. The list is small, but it’s enough. Azula is in a prison too, and it’s one of the million things that’s breaking Zuko’s heart. He pulls troops out of the Earth Kingdom as best as he can, but it’s going to be a long process, and it’s going to be hard. The Fire Nation has inserted itself deep inside the other nations. It’s hard to pull out the weeds without uprooting the entire earth. 

It’s not for a few weeks after the comet that Aang finally talks about his fight with Ozai. After this long, Zuko didn’t really expect him to ever talk about it. It’s something that haunts him, Zuko is sure, and it’s hard to talk to the living about ghosts. He knows from experience.

When it happens, it’s in the middle of the night. Zuko is in bed, half asleep, when the knock comes at the door. 

“Zuko,” Aang calls through the door. Zuko has barely opened the bedroom door and let him inside when Aang says, “Can I sleep here tonight?” 

Zuko blinks, not quite sure where the question had some from, but he nods once and waves Aang towards the bed. “Are you okay?” 

“I can never sleep anymore,” Aang says, hugging his arms around his chest. He looks over at Zuko, dark bags under his eyes. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Did Ozai give you your scar?” 

That makes Zuko freeze. His heart drops, skips a beat, falls apart. It’s with a long, tired, rattling sigh that Zuko sinks onto his bed, looking Aang over. He’s twelve years old and he doesn’t deserve to hear about the horrors of the world, much less know them himself. 

But he’s also the only person to have fought the Fire Lord and come out clean; if anyone knows the tragedy of war, it’s him. Zuko doesn’t know how to reconcile that feat with the happy, go lucky child he used to know. 

Something about Aang changed after the fight, something that Zuko can’t place, but he knows it’s there. It’s a new sobriety, a new kind of somber look he gives the world. Like he knows that there are horrors he cannot defeat with bending, and nightmares he can’t fix with kindness. He won the war without killing Ozai, but that doesn’t mean he kept himself intact emotionally. A part of you, Zuko knows, dies when you use bending against another person like that, when you experience that kind of violence. 

“Yes,” Zuko finally says, after a long silence.

“He tried to do the same thing to me, I think,” Aang murmurs. He sits next to Zuko on the bed, staring at his hands. “He had me pinned down and he tried to put his hand to my face.” 

“I’m sorry,” Zuko says hoarsely. 

It’s all that he can say. What else is there? What comfort can you give to a child that experiences something like that? Feeling horrifyingly empty, he wonders what Aang dreams about at night, if he now has the same nightmares as Zuko does. He tries to think back to being thirteen and blind in one eye and deaf in one ear and fucking terrified, and tries to remember the things he wanted to hear most, the things that would keep those nightmares at bay. 

“I was so scared,” Aang whispers. It’s a dark confession for a dark night, and Zuko feels his stomach turn, and a sickness rises in his throat. 

Aang shifts slightly, and Zuko moves so that Aang can slip under the bed covers and lay down. He pulls the sheets over Aang, and then sits next to Aang but on top of the sheets. He takes a deep breath. 

He wants to say that Aang is safe now, but they both know that “safe” is an obscure word these days. They both know that, while the war might be officially over, there’s still a nation of indoctrinated soldiers, and two other nations that still crave revenge. 

“You survived,” Zuko says. “And you’re loved.” 

Those are the only true things that he can think of, in that moment. Those are the only things left, for the two of them. For the burning children, for the burned, for the healing. 

“I survived,” Aang echoes, taking a deep breath. “Thanks, Zuko.” 

Zuko just nods. Aang is a child who never got a childhood. Maybe, Zuko dares to hope, his scars won’t keep from having one now. But then again, you never come home from war unchanged. You never come away from that kind of fire unburned. 

“Anytime,” Zuko murmurs, but Aang is already asleep. Zuko prays to Agni that he doesn’t dream.


End file.
